by Mari Collier
Mother Superior Elizabeth's eyes widened. The disgusting Lutheran had not even put on a clean apron, but that was the Germans for you. Filthy unbelievers.
Jeremiah “Red” O'Neal set aside the cup he was pretending to sip from and smiled. Once cleaned up, Margareatha Lawrence would be a beautiful, imposing asset. He had gleaned enough to suspect she would also be very, very grateful. At twenty-two, Red was six feet tall, two hundred and twenty pounds, broad shouldered and slim flanked. His clothes were tailored, his boots were cobbled, and in his chest beat two hearts.
“Hello, Miss Lawrence, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I was gone when that horrific attack took place on your home.”
The sharp words Margareatha had planned to say were stilled when she saw his eyes. How could that be? The sisters said that hers were unnatural and no one had eyes like that. This man looked like her father.
O'Neal smiled and stood. He had been able to enter her mind and confusion filled her eyes and face instead of the defiance that had been there. He doubted if she had the same ability as his hadn't been there until he was nineteen. According to his mother's letter Margareatha was now about sixteen or seventeen. Perfect for his needs and she was beautiful despite being tall.
“Mr. O'Neal, I apologize for her rudeness.
“Margareatha, you are to acknowledge Mr. O'Neal.”
“Why? His family forced me here and my mother and brothers died because of them.”
Mother Superior rose to her full height of five feet. She looked like a child among giants.
“No reprimand is necessary, Mother Superior.” Red smiled at her and turned to Margareatha.
“I can't blame you for being upset. Why don't you go fetch your coat and then we'll leave here.”
For one moment wild hope surged through Margareatha, and then she realized that she could not live on the outside without shelter or food. The hell with it she thought. I'll do anything to get out of here.
Mother Superior turned on Red. “That is impossible, Mr. O'Neal. Your father's instructions were to keep her here until she is eighteen; longer if she repents and becomes one of us.”
“I'd have to see that letter, Mother Superior, for my instructions were to bring her back to Texas.”
The Mother Superior stared at Red. To Margareatha's amazement, the women said, “Very well, give me a moment, please.” She turned and walked out the door Margareatha had entered.
Red swung around to Margareatha.
“Quick, we have to leave now.”
“They'll stop us.”
“No, they won't.” He grinned at her and took her arm. “Hurry, I can't hold them all.”
Margareatha found his words puzzling, but they were stepping out of the other door of the parlor. This door led into the entry hallway where visitors to the nunnery could enter if given permission.
Red nodded at the woman sitting behind the lightly veiled cubicle and took his coat and hat from the wooden tree by the door.
“Good day to you, Sister.”
And they were out in the fresh, wind-nipping air of Houston.
Red slung his coat around Margareatha's shoulders. “There wasn't time for you to get your wrap. Hurry, they'll be after us in a moment.”
Questions rolled through Margareatha's mind. How had this happened? Why did that Sister in the hallway let them depart without questions, but sat there mute?
Margareatha's long legs matched his hurrying steps.
“Why did they let us out? Me, that is?”
“Because I held them with my mind; it's an ability that you may one day possess.”
“That's not possible.”
“Didn't you feel me brush your mind?”
They had turned the corner and Red saw the conveyance he had arrived in. The man's jaws were working his chaw. He spit out a brown stream on the board sidewalk and mounted to his seat.
Once inside the cab, Red drew the curtains.
“Where are we going?”
“You, Miss Lawrence, are going to a safe house where you can get cleaned up and hide while the police search for you. I've already made arrangements for new clothes to be tailored for you as I figured whatever you had in the nunnery would not be suitable outside. I just didn't realize it would be so bad.”
Margareatha set her lips. How dare he?
“Why not stop and let me out now? We can end this charade. I have no idea what you are planning, but, I, sir, am not part of it.”
Red settled back against the cushion. “Oh, cut the melodramatic crap. Didn't you notice we have the same type of eyes? Don't you wonder why that is?”
His words made Margareatha draw in her breath. She hadn't heard such words for the last five years, but this was a man from the outside world, not a nun.
“Why?”
“Because, Miss Lawrence, we have the same father and in all probability share another one of his strange anatomical traits.”
“And that would be?”
He grinned wickedly. “We'd have to listen to each other's chest to prove it, but I have two hearts. I'm guessing that with those eyes that you have two hearts also.”
This time the intake of breath was much sharper. Her two hearts had been discovered when the nuns were binding her chest because she was growing (according to them) an enlarged bosom. She and the three nuns in the room had all been sworn to secrecy.
“And just what, Mr. O'Neal, are your plans?”
“I'd rather not say at this point. If the police are called, which I doubt, I don't want them questioning this driver. I can assure you it is nothing illegal and you will not be expected to, uh, be with men alone. Right now, why don't you just enjoy the ride?”
“Will there be food?”
Red looked at her and realized she had very little weight on her, but that wasn't unusual for people in poor circumstances.
“Of course, Miss Lawrence, although it may not be fancy at first, I'm sure it will be better than what they had at the nunnery.”
After about twenty minutes the driver pulled the team to a halt.
“Don't be alarmed at where we are, but it is the safest place I could think of. Everything is ready for you and you will be treated like a queen until all the clothes are ready. It's just that it would be better that you not walk in this, ah neighborhood.”
“You mean I'm a prisoner again?”
“Oh, hell, no, but this is colored town.”
“What precisely is that?”
It was Red's turn to be puzzled and then he realized that all those years in the nunnery meant the girl was probably as innocent as the nuns.
“It's the section of town where the results of the father's sinning live.” He saw the blank look on her face and continued. “They are the ones who had white fathers and were given money or set free to stay far away from their white fathers.”
He grinned again. “This lady has fallen on hard times. Her father passed away, but she sews quite well and will make sure that you are decently quartered and fed. I've paid her well to do that.”
“You can't expect me to believe the O'Neal family is paying for this.”
“They are not. I am paying for it. I'm a gambler, and you, my dear are going to be my edge.”
“I have no money to repay you.” The teachings of her mother and der Pastor were still etched into her mind.
“When we start working together, you'll receive a percent; let's say five and then ten. We can always adjust it.”
“And what will I be doing, Mr. O'Neal?” She suspected this was not normal. The nuns had hounded her with the fact that there was no employment for females like her other than cleaning, being married, or becoming a nun. All of them were occupations that she rejected. She was too young. What if her mother still lived? Grandpa Schmidt or Uncle Kasper might still be alive, but she had no idea how to get to St. Louis from Houston. Margareatha rightly assumed such a journey would cost money and she had none.
He smiled broadly. “You are going to be my eyes.”
Chapter 43: On Being A Woman
Margareatha was safe in that run-down house where O'Neal had taken her. Her bed was a cotton mattress unlike the straw pallet she had slept on for five miserable years. It was covered by a quilt with embroidered birds in each square and the pillows were stuffed with feathers.
Erlene Blevins was the owner of the house. The first day Erlene let Margareatha sleep and when she arose informed her she was not to go outside as someone might see her. She insisted Margareatha sit at the dining room table while she served her.
Margareatha studied Erlene's bustling form. The woman might be about forty. He skin was a coffee-with-cream color, her dark eyes intelligent, and her hair was braided and twisted into a bun. She was wearing a short shift for working and bustled in and out of the kitchen
“Once y'all finish eating, we'll choose what fabrics y'all want for day wearing and night wearing. 'Course your nightshift will probably be cotton, maybe with some lace. Is that all right?”
Margareatha set the cup of coffee down. “Erlene, I have no idea about the different fabrics unless they are cotton or muslin. I know Mama had a dress out of some different kind of fabric, but I can't remember what it was.”
Erlene sank down in the chair on the other side of the table. “Where y'all been? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to ask questions.”
“That's all right. I think Mr. O'Neal is too over concerned, but I guess we can humor him. Why don't I fix the meals and bake things while you are doing the sewing?”
“La, Miss O'Neal, your brother done paid for everything. Y'all shouldn't be in the kitchen.”
“Why not? It's boring with nothing to do.”
“Miss O'Neal, y'all are white folk.”
“What does that have to do with it? We did our own cooking at home. I hate sewing. I'd rather bake something. I can't just sit here. You don't want me to go outside for fear of losing the money he paid you, but that isn't fair to you. I should at least be able to go to the outhouse.”
“No, ma'am, y'all surely cain't. Then people would ask me what was going on.”
“I should think they are asking already. Can't they tell there is someone here?”
“If someone ain't showing their face, folks around here will keep mum about it. They don't want no trouble.”
“Erlene, I'll make a bargain with you. While you are sewing, I'll bake or make the meals. That way I won't snap your head off and you'll be rid of me a lot sooner.”
Erlene put both hands on her hips. “You're not to do none of the cleaning up. Mr. O'Neal said he wanted your hands looking like a gentlewoman's. That soap would make them red like a crayfish. I carry in all the wood and get that fire started. If y'all start breaking nails, y'all cain't put the wood in the stove and I cain't be running back and forth.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, I'll be careful. This is all so silly anyway. I'll cook and you sew. Tell Mr. O'Neal to bring me some books if he shows up again.”
Erlene looked dubious. She just knew one time and this white woman would want nothing more to do with the kitchen. To her delight, Margareatha's meals were good, but rather plain.
“Y'all need to add some spices.”
Erlene opened a cabinet door. “See those tins, Miss O'Neal? That's what makes cooking good.”
“I know they do. Mama had some, but they were so expensive she rarely used them for everyday meals.”
Erlene shook her head. This young woman didn't talk like white trash, but she certainly had some of their ways.
“Y'all can use them. Mr. O'Neal won't mind paying a tad more if y'all put on some weight. I'm going to allow for that on your clothes.”
The dresses were made from expensive material and they were beautiful. The under garments were soft cotton or linen. A cobbler came to fit her for proper shoes.
After five years of drab clothes, inadequate food, little schooling, and the brutal treatment from the nuns, Margareatha felt alive again as she whirled around in each new outfit. She found that she loved beautiful clothes; their color and their feel, and the sweep on her body. The image in the mirror proclaimed, “You are a beautiful woman.” It was a shocking, breathtaking surprise after all the years of the nuns pointing out her physical, mental, and spiritual shortcomings.
Six weeks after he left her at the house O'Neal returned and paid Erlene for the sewing. He also inspected each dress and handed over a steamer trunk.
“Pick one for traveling and pack the rest. Let me know when you've finished.”
Rita took a deep breath. “I don't think that work that you mentioned will pay for all of this. My grandfather won't have that kind of money either.”
“This will be a very lucrative calling for both of us. I'll explain more when we're on the steamboat headed for New Orleans. When we arrive at St. Louis, you can decide if you want to continue and earn your own wages or go to your grandfather's farm. Remember, you are my sister.” He grinned at her before departing to the parlor to sip whiskey with Erlene.
Margareatha's mind was in a complete whirl. Did he mean it? She could not believe there was any way she could help him win at a gambling game. Erlene had taught her the basics of different card games while she boarded here.
“Men like it when y'all can offer them a diversion.” There was a slight smile on Erlene's face and scorn in her voice as she continued. “They cain't really spend all them hours in bed with a woman no matter what they want to claim.”
That statement left Margareatha baffled. “What do you mean by that cryptic statement?”
“Lawd, Miss Lawrence, y'all mean y'all ain't ever been with a man?”
Erlene's revelations about men and women were difficult for Margareatha to process. Erlene was convinced that Margareatha would be destroyed by the world out there.
“Y'all get home to your folks as quick as y'all can. 'Course there's always the chance that they ain't going to want you. It's best to have a stash put away if it comes to that.”
Margareatha tucked all this information away in her head, but it wasn't until they were on the ship to New Orleans and the steam trunk deposited in her room that she asked O'Neal again how she was to repay him. I'll kill anyone that tries to touch me like that, she thought.
He closed the door. “I don't want people overhearing this.”
“Remember when I went into your mind. Was that a bad sensation?” He was curious as he had not met anyone that could enter his mind.
“No, but I certainly didn't want you there. You have no right to spy on me in that manner.”
“I wasn't spying. I was just testing. If I hadn't been able to do so, this scheme wouldn't work.”
“And what scheme is that Mr. O'Neal?”
“You'll be dressed in one of those two ball gowns and serving liquor to all of us seated around a poker table; that, and looking beautiful and smiling while you move around the room. You'll do this right after the hands are dealt and you can see the cards.” His brogue had disappeared. “Then you'll picture those cards in your mind. Erlene has taught you what constitutes a good hand. I'll look into your mind to see what they have and base my bids on that. I figure, even with the odds in the dealer's favor, I'll be up about seventy-five to ninety percent in my winnings. And by the way, call me Red or Jeremiah.”
“Why do you need me? Why not go into their minds?”
“Because, darling girl, it would make them uneasy and there are some I can't go into. This way, they stay relaxed, and we win.”
Chapter 44: New Abilities
“What do y'all mean, y'all won't introduce me? I just lost two hundred dollars to your damn cheatin' ways. A night with her would soothe my temper!”
Margareatha whirled around. She had been at the sideboard pouring drinks, but there was something in the tone of his voice that told her this was more than an ordinary challenge. It was almost a full year since Red had rescued her from the nunnery.
They were on the Belle of St. Louis and smoke hung like clouds in the room where men g
athered after dining to play their games of chance. The tables were occupied by four or five men talking or intently staring at their cards, sipping whiskey, and enjoying their cigars. Margareatha had been circulating the room, smiling at all when the man's voice intruded. She turned to see Red raise his eyebrows.
“You, sir, owe my sister and me an apology.”
“Apology my ass! Not to somebody who talks more like a damn Yankee than a true son of the South.” The man rose to his feet. He was heftier than Red, but only about five feet seven inches tall, and his face was flushed from the whiskey.
Red stood. “You really are intent upon a fight, aren't you?”
The man turned to Margareatha. “How about it, Missy? Y'all go with me right now and I'll forget this son-of-a-bitch cheated.”
Margareatha felt the red rage boil through her system and sent her left fist into his soft belly and her right against his jaw. Her mind screamed hateful invectives into his.
'Crawl out of here, you spoiled brat. Keep telling me you're sorry.' She was using mindspeak and didn't realize her commands were silent.
The man began crawling to the door. “Ah'm so sorry, Miss O'Neal. Please forgive me, Miss O'Neal.”
Red was standing, first looking towards the man and then at Margareatha who was panting while she continued to stare at the crawling man as though he were some sort of insect.
Red gathered up his coins and bills and stuffed them into his pockets. His drink he left on the table with true regret and walked over to Margareatha.
“Let me walk you to your room, Sister Dear. I know this event has shocked you.”
She continued to stare at the man, but to Red she said, “And why didn't you defend me?”
“My dear, I was trying to give him an opportunity to clear his head and come to his senses.” Red was speaking in a loud tone, his words clearly enunciated. “I didn't realize he was as drunk as he obviously is.”
